


Hero Complex

by TheLordOfLaMancha



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: American History, British Empire, Complete, Fluff and Smut, IN SPACE!, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-30
Updated: 2015-06-15
Packaged: 2018-02-11 00:53:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 10,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2046879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLordOfLaMancha/pseuds/TheLordOfLaMancha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hero Complex:<br/>A) A personality trait defined by the impulsive need to help others and change the world.<br/>B) The legend of Arthur and Alfred; the story of star crossed nations who have loved, lost, and found their way along the path to discovering what it means to be a hero.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Legend Begins

**Author's Note:**

> Soundtrack: A Star is Born from Hercules
> 
> History Point: Colonialism

              It began on Alfred’s first visit to London. Yet just a fledging nation, Arthur carried the young boy through the hectic streets of London, the boy’s eyes wide and soaking in every colour and every detail. Arthur’s heart was cheerful in the face of Alfred’s sheer delight. As Alfred’s eyes settled on a side street sweet shop, Arthur smirked knowingly. Alfred’s sweet tooth would certainly be the death of him.

              He put the boy down and held his hand, fishing with his other in his pocket for a few pence for sweets. They turned the corner and entered the shop, Alfred running ahead and pasting his sticky fingers and face to the glass behind which was displayed a variety of confectionaries.

              “So the Hero returns,” says the confectioner, addressing Arthur. “And with a tag along.”

              Arthur smiled, pointing to the sweets he wished to purchase. “Two of those please, and I had to bring home something from the New World didn’t I?”

              The confectioner packaged up the sweets in a small paper bag saying, “But of course. Does the lad have a name?”

              “Alfred,” Arthur replied, running his leather gloved fingers through Alfred’s sunshine blond hair. Alfred’s eyes shot up to Arthur upon hearing his name, and Arthur’s heart fluttered.

              “Well, here you are then Alfred,” the confectioner said, slipping the bag of sweets around the glass to Alfred as Arthur left the payment on the counter. Alfred immediately snatched the bag and fished with his fingers inside.

              “Oi, Alfred. What do we say to the confectioner?” Arthur said sharply.

              “Thank you Mister con-fish-in-er!” Alfred said proudly. Arthur just shook his head as Alfred began devouring his sweets.

              “Confectioner, Alfred,” Arthur sighed. “Con-fect-shon-er.”

              “Con-fect-in-er,” Alfred replied.

              “Close enough,” the confectioner said, laughing softly. “Don’t eat those too quickly there, lad, you’ll upset yourself.”

              “Okay!” Alfred replied, placing his sweet back in the bag, and poking his head out the door into the sunshine. It sparkled off the natural highlights in the boy’s hair.

              “Oh, of course, the brat listens to you,” Arthur said, rolling his eyes and following Alfred out into the street.

              Spurred by his lesson on the word “confectioner,” Alfred paused their walk to read the newsstand display.

              “Great ex-por-ers return from America!” Alfred read aloud to Arthur.

              “Explorers,” Arthur corrected lightly.

              “Do they mean you, Mister Arthur?” Alfred asked.

              “Sort of, also the crew and captain of the ship,” Arthur explained.

              “A star is born,” Alfred read the subheading as Arthur purchased a paper. “What does that mean?”

              “Just that someone has become popular or gained public importance,” Arthur tried to explain.

              “Like a hero?” Alfred asked.

              “A hero could be considered a star, yes,” Arthur said, leading Alfred off the main road and down a side street towards their London home.

              “I want to be a hero,” Alfred said. “Just like you!”

              Arthur smarted for a moment, a delight welling inside of him. Then he said something he wouldn’t realize the implications of until years later.

              “Well you are a hero, you know,” Arthur said. “Everyone’s a hero in their own way.”

              “Huh?” Alfred said.

              Arthur stopped and crouched down in front of Alfred, gently tapping on his chest with his gloved finger.

              “In your heart is the power for making you a hero too,” Arthur said. He turned and lured Alfred’s sight to the stars emerging in the twilight that settled over London. “Every night a star is born.”

              Alfred smiled and hugged Arthur tight.

              “I’m going to be the best hero ever!” Alfred exclaimed.

              Arthur picked the boy up and carried him the rest of the way home.

              “You do that, lad,” he replied. _And I hope you have more morality than me_ , he thought.


	2. Liberty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I have this image of Alfred in a scene at the end of this chapter that I can’t get out of my head. I lack the skill to draw, so this is the best I can do, and I’m hoping you get the same vibes that I do. I think it encompasses well what I think it means to be a nation, as well as what it means to be young. At the same time I feel like Arthur’s section captures what it means to become an adult.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soundtrack: I Need a Hero by Bonnie Tyler
> 
> History Point: Around War of Independence

              It was raining. Arthur stood in his small countryside home, watching the rain make streams on the windows and pelt the rose garden. His raincoat hung dripping onto the hardwood landing from its perch on the coat rack. The tick of the clock on the wall and the off rhythm drip of the coat were the only sounds besides the crackling of the fire. On the table was an open newspaper, the edges a bit wrinkled from the humidity and wet.

              Outside, the rain fell. Inside, Arthur’s heart broke all over again. As it did, every time he read such a headline.

              _Our Beacon in the Darkness_ , the headline read. _America: A Star Is Born._

              Arthur left the window and plucked some of America’s favourite sweets from the dish on the coffee table, looking at the absurdly coloured objects in his hand. He didn’t know why he kept them, Alfred had not spoken to him in years. It has been decades since the fall of the British Empire. Now, America was stealing the limelight. A new star is born.

              Throwing the sweets across the room, Arthur swept his hands across the coffee table, scrunching the newspaper into a tight ball in his rage and tossing it onto the fire warming the small cottage. Arthur watched it burn and fought the tears as he tried to calm himself. He is an adult. He is an Empire. _Was_ an Empire. But worse, he is _responsible_. Not just for the rise of America, but for Alfred himself.

              Arthur picked up the phone and dialed a familiar number, slouching into the sofa.

              “’Allo?” The person on the other end answered.

              “Hello Francis,” Arthur replied softly.

              “Ah, Angleterre, you saw the paper today, non?” Francis replied gently. In any other case, Francis would open with ridicule, but not when Arthur was in enough of a fragile state already.

              “Can I ask you something?” Arthur asked.

              “Of course,” Francis said gently.

              “Do you miss him?” Arthur asked.

              “Who?” Francis asked, trying to guess where Arthur was going with this.

              “Matthew,” Arthur said. “Do you ever miss Matthew?”

              Francis was quiet for a moment, but decided to answer with honesty.

              “In more ways than I think I understand,” Francis replied.

              “Francis, I… Why do I feel responsible for Alfred?” Arthur asked.

              “I do not know, Angleterre,” Francis replied. “But they are children as we were children. And as hard as we try, we cannot stop them from making the mistakes we ourselves made. It is the course of life and of history. You know Alfred always wanted to be like you. He is equally as stubborn.”

              “He isn’t anything like me, he wants to be a foolish hero,” Arthur replied with spite.

              “Onhonhon… and where do you think he got an idea like that?” Francis asked, knowingly.

              Arthur looked over at the sweets lying on the carpeted floor.

              “Thanks frog,” Arthur said, his voice cracking. He hung up the phone.

              Lying on the sofa, Arthur buried his head in the pillows and cried. He was Dr. Frankenstein. And he had created a monster he could no longer control.

              That same monster was lying on the very pinnacle of one of the towers of the Manhattan Bridge, worker walkways lacing across the river and joining the pillars. The water rushed miles beneath him, the dockyards spilling out into the city beyond. The night sky sparkled with a smattering of stars, the sounds of Manhattan nightlife spilling around him in pulse with his heartbeat. He was laying spread eagle, his arms and toes reaching as far out as they could, grasping at impossible horizons.

              The height did not unnerve him as the wind rushed around and gently swayed the towers. He felt unstoppable, impossibly brave, and impossibly powerful. He felt confident that if he tumbled from his secluded perch, he would undoubtedly survive the fall. He was America, the land of the free, the land of the dream. He was capable of any feat, large or small, however miraculous. In America, anything was possible, even defying death.

              Above the city, he felt the energy of his vast land course through him, hopeful and prosperous. He brimmed with it as he shouted aloud at the stars.

              “Look at me now, Arthur!” he screamed at the sky. “Watch me shine. Nothing can stop me!”

              He smiled as he pondered how he had grown. He was taller, stronger, and faster, his appetite insatiable and his desire hopelessly passionate. He laughed breathlessly as he choked down the cool night air and darted his eyes as he connected the constellations in the sky; Draco and Orion, Ursa Major and Ursa Minor, Kings and Queens, Heavens and Hell. He had grown on the back of their stories, their timeless voices, their incredible exploits. He stood on the shoulders of giants and challenged all of creation.

              Arthur’s voice echoed in the back of Alfred’s brain, the stories of the sky that Arthur had told him with a painstaking patience. And a message Alfred would never forget, _in your heart is the power to make you a hero too_.

              With the life of his vast cities coursing through his veins, Alfred sprinted down the makeshift wooden walkway and came skidding to a halt at the top of the second pillar, rubble slipping over the edge towards the island sprawling out before him. He spread his arms wide in challenge to the ocean, somewhere beyond the farthest reaches of fledging Manhattan.

              “Every night a star is born,” Alfred shouted, tears of rage spilling from his eyes as he watched the meteor show begin around him. “And I will glow brighter than any star, stronger than the heat of a thousand suns! The hope of a hundred thousand million people! The stardust of a hundred thousand million dreams! I am freedom and justice and liberty. I am strong as the tallest mountain and winding as the longest river!”

              Alfred gasped breathlessly and hung his head, lowering his arms to his sides.

              “I am America. I am a legend built on the ancestry of the world,” Alfred said quietly to himself. “I am Alfred fucking Jones, and my heart beats with the dreams of my people. And I will be their hero.”

              Alfred sat down, his legs dangling on the edge of the pillar. He scarcely imagined he could tumble just like the shooting stars around him, if only the wind so chose to nudge him over the edge into the frigid waters racing below.


	3. The Stranger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is a song by Billy Joel called The Stranger, which I’ve recommended for this chapter. I think it’s really important to listen to it before you read this chapter because I think it has significant influence on the point that Arthur is in his life. The gist of the meaning of the song is that we all have different faces for different situations, and not everyone we know has seen all our faces, not even those we love. The song says “Why were you so surprised that you never saw the stranger, did you ever let your lover see the stranger in yourself?” When Arthur encounters a very much grown up Alfred in this chapter, this is sort of the idea that is occurring to him. Why is he surprised to see Alfred grown up, that he didn’t foresee this stranger in front of him? And yet, there are sides of Arthur than he would never let Alfred see. It’s curious as well, because as you’ll see from Arthur’s remarks about Matthew, that he’s come to see Matthew as an adult and not Alfred.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soundtrack: The Stranger by Billy Joel
> 
> History Point: Stock Market Crash that Led to the Great Depression

It was a warm summer afternoon when Arthur got the call from Matthew. He was relaxing in the backyard with a copy of Tennyson when the Butler brought him the message.

              “Master Williams,” the Butler said. “Sounds urgent, sir. The child sounded quite distraught.”

              “He is scarcely a child anymore,” Arthur replied, following the Butler inside to where the telephone rested on the wall. “Certainly not since he started dating Francis.”

              “Quite right, sir,” the Butler replied, and was dismissed.

              Arthur picked up the phone from where it lied on the table.

              “Hello?” Arthur asked only to hear vigorous coughing coming from the other end of the line.

              “Arthur!” Matthew cried out, still coughing. “Oh Arthur. I… I don’t know what to do… it happened so quickly… this has never happened before…”

              “Calm down, child. What is it that’s happened? Did the bloody frog do something to you?” Arthur asked grudgingly.

              “No… it’s not Francis… Arthur… It’s Alfred, I…I can’t wake him up. I think he’s gone comatose,” Matthew said between panicked sobs. “And I can’t bring down his fever.”

              It felt as though Arthur’s stomach had bottomed out. Guilt washed over him as he braced himself against the table to keep from collapsing. No, not Alfred, please, Arthur begged to himself.

              “Arthur, please, what do I do?” Matthew cried. Immediately, Arthur realized he was going to have to put himself second and take control of the situation. “Arthur?”

              “It’s… It’s alright, Matthew, thank you for telling me,” Arthur said, fighting to keep his voice level. “Alfred will be fine, I’m sure. I will come over immediately.”

              “What do I do until then?” Matthew asked.

              “I want you to take care of you. There’s nothing more you can do for Alfred but keep an eye on him. How did you get such a nasty cough?” Arthur asked, trying to distract Matthew, but the Canadian’s cough did sound genuinely concerning.

              “It’s just a cold,” Matthew said, still coughing. “I should be fine. It’s the economy collapse… I think the same thing is happening to Alfred.”

              Matthew was probably right, the stock market crash had rattled all the nations, and Arthur wasn’t doing particularly well either.

              “Alright, well lie down, drink some tea, I’ll be over to attend to Alfred soon,” Arthur said. “Goodbye.”

              Hanging up, Arthur called for the Butler.

              “Prepare my things to leave immediately,” he instructed.

              “Certainly, sir,” the Butler replied as Arthur dialed another number and waited for the click of the connection.

              “Hello Francis,” Arthur said.

              “Onhonhon, Angleterre, to what do I owe the pleasure?” Francis asked, teasing out of the gates.

              “Shut it frog, this is serious,” Arthur snapped. “Alfred’s gone comatose and Matthew sounds pretty bad, plus the anxiety alone over his brother might do a number on him.”

              “Mon dieu, I will pack immediately,” Francis said.

              “I’ll handle Alfred, do you think you can deal with Matthew?” Arthur asked.

              “Onhonhon, should not be a problem,” Francis replied almost too happily, hanging up.

              When Arthur arrived, he was presented with a house he had never before seen. He was greeted by a long drive that led up to pillars and large bay windows. An American flag hung proudly on its post by the door.

              Arthur was let in by the head maid and found Canada asleep on one of the sofas in the parlour. The Brit checked Matthew’s temperature, only to find him chilled. As Arthur pulled a blanket over the Canadian, he shifted in response and Arthur was comforted to know he would be alright until Francis arrived.

              Alfred was found in the bedroom upstairs, his blinds pulled away and the windows wide open to let in the cool summer breeze. Arthur froze at the sight of Alfred, lying still in bed with a housemaid mopping his brow. It had been some time since he had seen Alfred, and the boy he once knew had grown considerably. Alfred appeared to be nearing six feet tall, and his face had aged dramatically with a lean masculinity to the point where Arthur found him to be terribly attractive. Arthur paused in the doorway and gasped slightly, drawing the attention of the housemaid.

              “His fever just won’t break,” the maid explained.

              Arthur crossed the room to lean on one of the bedposts. Alfred was paler than Arthur had ever seen him, even when the boy fell ill to the pox all those years ago. But the person in front of him now was no boy, but a man; a very handsome, very sick, stranger. Yet somewhere inside of this stranger was the Alfred he once knew.

              “Are you alright?” the maid asked, after Arthur had failed to speak.

              “Yes, yes of course,” Arthur said, started into focussing on the maid. “Sorry, love, you’ve done your duty well, I will take over.”

              Curtsying, the maid fetched a fresh bowl of cool water for Arthur and shut the door behind her.

              Arthur and Alfred were alone but for the humming of cicadas coming in with the breeze from outside. Arthur picked up the towel and rung out the cool water, placing it on Alfred’s burning forehead. He didn’t react to the touch. Arthur picked up his hand. Still nothing.

              On Alfred’s hand was a ring, some sort of official seal of some kind, and Arthur played with it as it caught the light. And as he held Alfred’s hand in his own, he couldn’t help but notice just how big those hands were, and strong, the palms calloused with hard work. Arthur sighed, soothingly rubbing his thumb over Alfred’s knuckles.

              “Alfred, what have you done?” Arthur sighed, lacking the feeling to even insult the boy, now a man, who had left him. “You’ve grown up, that’s what you did. You’ve gone and grown up without me. When did I miss that?”

              Arthur laughed solemnly, and continued his pointless monologue.

              “I suppose you didn’t need me for that did you? There couldn’t be two heroes, I guess. One of us had to quit. Well you won that one, and look at what you’ve become… so much bigger and so much better than I could have ever dreamed. The world at your fingertips. Your naïve, innocent fingertips. Oh, Alfred, what did I do? Where did I go wrong?”

              Arthur let the tears slip from his eyes as he refreshed the towel to try and break the fever.

              “I did this. I should have kept a better eye on you, I shouldn’t have let you go, I shouldn’t have let you dream so big… but who was I to ever stop you. You were made of stars, made of dreams… You were America and I was just a petty island nation with a big ego. Why would you ever want to be like me?”

              Arthur wiped his eyes and measured Alfred’s temperature again. Still soaring, his breathing shallow and soft. Arthur sifted through the bottles of medication they had been giving Alfred, none of which were working because Alfred wasn’t suffering from the flu; he was a nation battling a national collapse. Alone.

              “So stubborn, so headstrong…” Arthur murmured and began whispering an ancient lullaby he used to sing to Alfred when he was younger. His eyes spilling over, he looked up at the vacant face of the stranger Alfred had become. Arthur ran his fingers through Alfred’s damp blond hair, something familiar, something comforting.

              “I’m sorry,” Arthur whispered. He knew Alfred was beyond coming back. He skimmed the headlines of the paper next to the bed. America’s economy was gone under his feet. He had gambled everything and lost. There was only one thing that could save Alfred and it was entirely up to Arthur. Arthur would be deciding the course of history. He could bring Alfred back with magic.

              Arthur found it amusing that it was scarcely even a choice. Even though the boy in front of him was no longer the boy he once knew, Arthur knew he would do anything to save him.

              He brushed his hands over Alfred’s eyes and whispered the words. Arthur’s green eyes glowed, and he felt his fingers tingle. Alfred groaned and moved beneath his hand.

              “Mpmph, Arthur…” Alfred mumbled and rolled over, nestling his head underneath the arm he had pulled over his head. Arthur smiled and soothed Alfred as he continued to pet his head, but was interrupted by a loud knocking at the front door. Arthur could hear the startled shout of the housemaid as the visitors barged their way into the house, shouting as they stomped up the stairwell.

              “ALFRED FUCKING JONES! SO HELP ME GOD, IF YOU ARE STILL IN BED YOU LAZY-” a man shouted, cut off when he turned into the bedroom and found Arthur tending to Alfred.

              “You… what are you doing here?” the man asked, dressed in a suit, with an earpiece coiling behind his ear and a bulge in his jacket where surely a gun was stowed.

              “He is unwell,” Arthur explained as calmly as he could, standing and approaching the suits. “But he is better now. I should be leaving.”

              However, the suit blocked his exit.

              “I asked, what are _you_ doing here?” the suit growled.

              Arthur raised his arms in a show of innocence and tried to remain calm. He heard coughing in the stairwell and a muttered, “Good god, who is making all this noise?”

              The suit reacted by pulling out his gun and turning it on the source of the sound.

              “Merde, what the hell!” Matthew screeched, wheeling backwards, the blanket wrapped around his shoulders falling to the ground. With all the grace that Canada possessed, he tripped over the blanket and tumbled over. Arthur sighed as Matthew groaned.

              “Are you alright, Matthew?” Arthur called out.

              “Oui,” Matthew mumbled out between coughs. “Why does he have a gun?”

              “Ask him,” Arthur answered. “I haven’t the faintest…”

              “Mister Canada! Sir!” the suit smarted, holstering his gun and rushing over to help Matthew up. “I didn’t realize it was you.”

              “I’m sorry for startling you,” Matthew replied in an extremely Canadian fashion. “Now if you don’t mind, could you leave? Alfred is ill and I don’t have the patience for you right now.”

              “But he-” the suit gestured towards Arthur, but Arthur had already snuck past and out the door.


	4. Fall From Grace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Arthur transitions into loving Alfred smoothly and naturally, Alfred falls hard, deeply, and all at once for Arthur. In the last chapter, where Arthur quietly comes to accept that he’s in love with Alfred as simply as he might accept that it is raining outside, Alfred has a lot harder time coming to terms with strong emotions he doesn’t quite understand. Arthur is much older after all… ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soundtrack: Clarity by Zedd ft. Foxes
> 
> History Point: Post Victory in Europe, but Alfred is still fighting Kiku

              Arthur did not see Alfred again until the fallout of the Second World War. They sat across from each other at the discussion table, Arthur watching Alfred carefully as their world leaders determined the boons of victory. Alfred slouched awkwardly in his seat, his face half bandaged, picking at the sleeves of his bomber jacket and in complete contrast to the over aggressive, forward attitude of his President.

              When his President elbowed him in the side, Alfred flinched and sat up to met Arthur’s regal gaze, but immediately turned his head to the side and shied away. Arthur watched as Alfred shifted and held his head in his hands, his gloved fingers knotting in his golden hair. The American President leaned over and whispered something in Alfred’s ear. Alfred promptly bolted from the room, his chair clattering to the floor behind him and the doors left swinging wide.

              He ran into the cool night and unfamiliar street until he reached a park, tearing off his gloves and digging his fingernails into the rough bark of a tree. Tears welled in his eyes as he strained against uncontrollable emotions and physical pain, his heart pounding and his breathing desperate.

              “Fuck,” Alfred cried to himself. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck…”

              His body was still tearing itself apart in the aftermath of Pearl Harbour and he shook with pain. But his mind was swimming with thoughts of something else, or rather, someone else. It was filled entirely with the thought of Arthur and the way he had looked at Alfred across the discussion table, his eyes haunted by sorrow and guilt. And Alfred had been washed over with the frantic and unexplainable desire to kiss him.

              He crashed to his knees in front of the tree and fished in his pockets with shaky hands for a bottle of medication. Cracking it open, he downed five or six of the pills he knew would do nothing to help the pain or anxiety, but took them simply for reassurance. His eyes welled over with tears as he banged weakly with his fists at the tree trunk, echoing sobs escaping his lips.

              As he closed his eyes, he was haunted by an image of Arthur, a few years previous, lying limp and unconscious with his chest struck through with spears of shrapnel from where he had been caught in a bombing raid. The ground pooled in crimson and Alfred had screamed uncontrollably until his brother pulled him away and slapped him to his senses.

              Alfred’s eyes shot open and he clawed at his chest as he cried, as if he could tear away the heartache with his bare hands. Those hands had longed to reach out across the table to Arthur only moments before and remember once again what it had felt like to hold Arthur’s long and careful fingers in his own, to know his touch, his warmth, his smell. But Alfred had failed to protect Arthur. He had been broken, beaten and shown his naïve ways. He had crashed from impossible heights yet again. And Arthur could not possibly love a broken, foolish man.

              Alfred had failed to protect the one thing he loved more deeply than he could begin to comprehend, and was forced to watch as Arthur shared in the agony that followed in the repercussions of war. Alfred’s tears were shed for all the hope of things that could have been, of relationships that could have been mended, of heroes standing tall on their pedestals and not broken and bleeding under the weight of anarchy.

              Alfred rested his head against the tree and slowed his sobs as he cried himself empty. Looking at his hands with bloodshot eyes, Alfred resolved to resurface a darker and stranger part of his self and prepared to do unspeakably terrible things in the name of ones he loved. He curled his hands into fists. He would not be broken. As the hero, he would bring justice to those who had brought this pain into his life and the lives of the ones he loved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A friend asked if I was suggesting Alfred was contemplating Hiroshima at the end of this chapter. Which, now that I look over it, is not a completely wrong assumption. It works. But I was also trying to lead up to Cold War connotations for the next chapter.


	5. Go Crazy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clearly, Alfred has been putting some serious thought into this whole love thing. But he’s very angry, and very in love, and very drunk and that just makes for a mess of lots of misplaced emotions for America.  
> But at the same time this is very much a chapter about Arthur and understanding his place. Over the course of the chapter, Arthur comes to realize that he’s going to have to be patient with Alfred, and wait for him to grow up before he can love him. The two may have come a long way together, and as perfect as it feels to hear these things from Alfred, Arthur realizes that what Alfred needs right now is not a lover, but a parent. And he has difficulty in compromising both.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soundtrack: If I Can’t Have You by the BeeGees  
> History Point: Mid-Cold War

              About a decade later, Arthur stood in his kitchen, brewing a pot of tea and listening to the reports on the television in the other room. Conflict between Russia and America was escalating to the extreme, both arming themselves to the teeth with weapons that would not only dissolve their nations, but the entire world. They were gambling with their lives.

              He returned to the living room with his hands wrapped around his mug, and watched the address by the American president, Alfred standing uncomfortably in the background in his full military dress. Arthur studied him carefully while the President spoke.

              “What is it, Alfred,” Arthur spoke aloud to himself. “Why are you doing this? No good will come of this… you were never that egotistical. You were never like me… But that’s who you’re trying to be isn’t it? God, Alfred, I really wish you would stop.”

              What Arthur wasn’t expecting was a sharp and urgent rapping on his front door. Placing his tea on the table, Arthur opened to the door, to find Alfred on the other side, glaring fiercely, his hair a ragged mess and his shoulders hunched over.

              Before Arthur could say anything, Alfred shoved the Brit back into his house and stormed inside, slamming the door behind him.

              “Alfred-” was all Arthur managed to say, his eyes wide with shock.

              Alfred threw off his bomber jacket, and pushed Arthur hard into the far wall, pinning the island nation against it, the drywall rattling with the impact. The American glared down at him not with anger, as Arthur came to realize as he stared down blue eyes filled with pure, unadulterated lust. His breath reeked of alcohol.

              Alfred leaned down into Arthur and forced his lips against the other’s, kissing him with a devouring need and unrelenting desire. Alfred growled as he did so, and Arthur temporarily melted into the kiss, sharp with the taste of vodka. He was surprised to find himself filled with an unexplainable feeling of satisfaction, as if something that had been missing had been resolved and completed with the touch of Alfred’s lips on his own.

              Alfred pulled away, only to grin devilishly as Arthur swooned and brought their lips together once more, pushing Arthur harder into the wall. Arthur groaned under the pressure Alfred was placing on him, but brought his hands up and knotted them in Alfred’s thick, golden hair as he felt the weight of Alfred’s heavy hands settle on his chest.

              However, Arthur quickly came back to his senses amongst the fog of dizzying desire that made his head swim, and he pulled Alfred’s face away from his own.

              “Alfred, what-” was all Arthur got out before Alfred shushed him.

              “Shhh… don’t talk,” Alfred grumbled, his voice deeper than Arthur ever remembered hearing it.

              Alfred’s lips were on Arthur’s again, but this time, practically begging permission for entry. Arthur felt Alfred’s hands slip under the hem of his sweater and tease his sides underneath. He shivered under the touch of rough, calloused hands and broke the kiss, and bringing his own hands to rest on Alfred’s shoulders.

              “Alfred, stop,” Arthur whispered, turning his face away, mere inches from Alfred.

              “Shut up,” Alfred growled in response, pushing forward in search of Arthur’s lips.

              “No,” Arthur said, pushing Alfred as hard as he could away from him.

              “What?” Alfred asked, looking incredulous as he drunkenly staggered backwards.

              “What the bloody hell are you doing?” Arthur asked.

              “I DON’T CARE!” Alfred shouted, lunging drunkenly at Arthur again, which Arthur dodged.

              “No, Alfred. No,” Arthur insisted. “Not like this. Not while you’re drunk.”

              Alfred’s face fell until he looked like a kicked puppy, and the six foot hero dissolved into tears as he crumbled to the ground.

              “I just,” Alfred mumbled between sobs. “I just want you so badly. I want to touch you and hold you and have you. I lie awake at night imagining what your lips taste like and how your hands would feel as you touched me until I’m overcome. I want to taste you and smell you and lie with you and protect you, and I DON’T UNDERSTAND WHY!”

              Arthur stood in shock over the broken man in front of him. He wasn’t sure he understood completely either. He, in turn, loved Alfred, but unconditionally and wholly and completely and _utterly romantically_. As he watched Alfred sob into the floor, his heart broke a little at how Alfred’s lust consumed him and blinded him to what was right in front of him. Arthur crouched down in front of the crying mess and brushed the hair from Alfred’s eyes, moving to rub slow circles up and down his back.

              “Shhhh…” Arthur soothed. Alfred sat up and held Arthur tight, crying to the Brit’s shoulder.

              “I’m so scared, so scared,” Alfred breathed.

              “I know, love, I know,” Arthur said, sitting there and holding Alfred.

              “I want everything and I can’t control it,” Alfred said after a time. “Can’t make it stop. Am I a monster?”

              Arthur was returned to a moment many decades ago when he lied on the sofa not a few feet away from them and cried his eyes out with worry over what America had become. But times had changed since then, and though neither wished to admit it, each had come to the other’s rescue on hundreds of occasions. Alfred had grown, become smarter, wiser, and Arthur had waited with an ever decreasing patience.

              Arthur lifted Alfred’s head and rested the American’s face in his hands, staring deep into his blue, blue eyes. They were filled with comets and constellations and impossibly huge dreams run through with fissures of hurt, pain, and guilt, of suffering and everyday existence. Alfred’s eyes were galaxies teeming with the complexities of life and overflowing with unspeakable emotion.

              With Alfred’s face in his, Arthur fluttered shut his eyes and brought his lips to Alfred’s in a chaste kiss. When he broke away, he gently rubbed the tears from Alfred’s cheeks with his thumb.

              “You are not a monster,” Arthur said softly, but with conviction. “If anything I am the monster. You are hopelessly and impossibly beautiful. You are made of stardust and dreams and all that is good in this world. You are not just a hero. You are _my_ hero. And… I love you.”

              Arthur covered Alfred with a blanket where he had fallen asleep on the couch. In the morning, he was gone.


	6. Sparks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *sigh* We’d get here eventually. And I’m still not proud of it. I might as well have a little fun with how each character sees the other at the same time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soundtrack: How Deep is Your Love by the BeeGees  
> History Point: Just before present day, after the end of the Cold War

              Arthur had seen Alfred on various occasions since then, but the two only ever went to coffee after meetings and sent each other Christmas cards. It wasn’t until the evening after the Cuban Missile Crisis had been resolved that Arthur came home to Alfred slumped against his door, holding an erroneously large bouquet of flowers, his arms resting on a large pile of leather bound books and a literal crate of tea.

              Arthur didn’t say anything, just raised an eyebrow at the peculiar sight and stood with his arms crossed.

              “Hi,” Alfred said, refusing to meet Arthur’s eyes. “I kind of have a lot of apologizing to do, don’t I? I hope I brought enough tea to get through it all. Might need some coffee so we don’t fall asleep.”

              Arthur kept his countenance level for a moment, studying the American sitting in front of him. But as he turned his face away, he broke into a smile.

              “You are an idiot,” Arthur said, and Alfred’s face fell. “A complete and utter idiot. But, thankfully, you’re my idiot.”

              Alfred grinned outrageously as Arthur helped him pick up the crate and carry it inside.

              Things slowly came to be as these kinds of things are meant to, cautiously and then with an unexpected spontaneity. This particular afternoon, Arthur was curled next to Alfred on the sofa, the TV buzzing about some game that Alfred was watching, while Arthur paged through an almost ancient copy of _Great Expectations_ with deliberate care. There wasn’t anything special about the day. It was utterly and completely ordinary.

              Bookmarking a particular page at the end of a chapter, Arthur settled down his book in his lap to turn his head and watch Alfred be absorbed in the television. The sun was setting outside and crept in through the window to sparkle Alfred’s golden hair like a field of wheat in the summer’s glow. The wind flittered through and danced around them, setting the curtains aflutter. The air smelled in the way that can only be distinctly described as spring, and the rich scent of Alfred, all earth and processed food. Arthur watched Alfred’s galaxy filled eyes flitter from side to side as he followed the action on the screen.

              And in that moment, Arthur found himself becoming hyperaware of where their bodies touched as they cuddled, of the warmth of contact and the strain and relaxation of Alfred’s muscles as he brimmed with excitement and anticipation. Arthur found himself drawn to the sharp lines of Alfred’s cheekbones and strong jaw, and how they came together to draw Arthur’s eye to the soft pink flesh of Alfred’s parted lips. Arthur bit his own in response, and furrowed his thick eyebrows.

              Alfred would tell it a different way. He watched the screen with excitement and anticipation, eager for his team to beat out one of his rival brother’s teams. The open windows carried in the scent of new beginnings and something indescribably Arthur, of tea and rain and musty paper. As his team scored, he raised his arms and shouted aloud in delight, but turned to look at Arthur when the other didn’t jump at the sudden movement and begin a string of curses about how he had disrupted his reading.

              But when Alfred turned, he caught sight of something that chased every thought out of his mind but one; Arthur. Alfred met Arthur’s unimaginably green eyes filled with an impossible timelessness and unwavering conviction. And as he held the gaze, Alfred became aware of just where Arthur’s hand was resting on his thigh, and how Arthur held his head with an absolute regality that made him tremble. Arthur bit his lip again, and Alfred’s eye was drawn to it as Arthur’s lip reddened beneath the pressure of his teeth.

              Alfred gulped loudly and his brow worried with nervousness as he was overcome with a breathtaking desire for touch. His fingers and lips tingled expectantly.

              “Alfred,” Arthur breathed his name slowly and carefully, and the American could no longer control himself. Alfred’s arms shot out to hold Arthur’s face and bring their lips together. Alfred melted at the contact, but Arthur held his resolve, sliding his hand up to Alfred’s chest and pushing him back into the sofa. Arthur broke the kiss and crawled forward until his weight was balanced on Alfred’s chest. He licked his lips and relished in Alfred squirming nervously beneath him.

              “We’ve been here before, haven’t we?” Arthur asked slyly, his eyes downcast, and his breath teasing along Alfred’s lips. It was a moment before Alfred smarted, sliding his hands down Arthur’s sides and leaning up into the kiss, scarcely stopping Arthur’s tongue from searching every unexplored crevice of his mouth and deepening the kiss.

              Alfred carefully pushed up the sides of Arthur’s shirt and ran his fingers along the soft skin underneath. He felt Arthur shift in response to his touch. Arthur raised his hips to lean up into Alfred’s lips and Alfred snuck his hand underneath to run his fingertips down along Arthur’s stomach. Arthur broke the kiss with a gasp, his arms shooting out to the sides to catch himself from falling.

              “Bloody hell Alfred,” Arthur swore, panting as he sat up.

              Alfred just lied there, smirking knowingly. Arthur raised an eyebrow at him, and Alfred sighed, sitting up and beginning on the buttons of Arthur’s shirt. In a matter of minutes, it was draped unceremoniously off of the edge of the coffee table, smothered under Alfred’s t-shirt and wire rimmed glasses.

              The minute they were through, Arthur’s hands were on Alfred, exploring every groove the muscles made beneath his skin. Alfred hooked his thumbs into the waistband of Arthur’s pants and hung on as he cooed under Arthur’s touch.  Arthur lowered himself to Alfred’s lips in a chaste kiss before working his way down his jaw and licking carefully behind his ear, breaking the rhythm of Alfred’s breathing.

              As Arthur’s hands moved to rub circles around Alfred’s nipples, his hips buckled and Alfred shot up, his hands moving to tangle deep in Arthur’s sandy hair. He met Arthur’s lips in messy, desperate kisses, and Arthur smiled beneath Alfred’s lips, pulling him closer.

Arthur swung his leg around until he was straddling Alfred’s hips, and as they sloppily kissed, Arthur tried to reach for Alfred’s pants, only to discover that he couldn’t reach. While he knelt to be even with Alfred’s face, he was dismayed to find that Alfred’s height was all torso, and his arms were just too short to reach. Grumbling, Arthur guided Alfred’s face with him as he returned to sitting.

Alfred deepened the kiss and Arthur let him explore with his tongue while he fiddled with the buttons of Alfred’s jeans. Just as Alfred’s hand slid down to rest on Arthur’s lean chest, Arthur slid his hand into Alfred’s jeans, making the American break the kiss and gasp. Arthur could scarcely control his laughter as Alfred looked back at him, his face flushed a rich scarlet. His countenance was a mask of genuine panic.

Slipping his hand back out, Arthur fluttered his fingers across Alfred’s hipbones, leaning in towards Alfred’s face.

“Come now, love, don’t clock out on me now,” Arthur cooed, his breath warm along the bridge of Alfred’s nose. Arthur could almost hear Alfred’s heart hammering in his chest. Alfred swallowed loudly, and rubbed the back of his neck with his hand.

“About that…” Alfred mumbled. “I don’t know…”

A look from Arthur shushed him.

“Do you trust me?” Arthur asked, looking Alfred straight in his star-spangled eyes and resting his fingertips on the waistband of Alfred’s jeans.

“W-wha-what?” Alfred asked shakily, his blush deepening even further.

“Do you trust me?” Arthur asked again.

Alfred paused for a minute and looked to the side, as if searching for his resolve. Hesitantly, he reached forward and unbuttoned Arthur’s pants as well.

“Yes,” Alfred replied with slightly more confidence, his fingers lingering with the fabric still between them.

“Good, because you’re going to want to in a minute, love,” Arthur leaned into Alfred’s ear and whispered, hooking his fingers into Alfred’s belt loops and tugging.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This may be one of the most terrible things I have written and I am so sorry.


	7. Save The World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And now we need a problem. Please bear with me, I made up something outrageous. But hang on for the feels and forgive me my absurd scenario? Please?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soundtrack: Leaving on a Jet Plane by John Denver  
> History Point: Future

“Must you go?” Arthur asked solemnly from where they stood next to Alfred’s motorcycle.

              “Only me and Ivan are qualified for the spacewalk,” Alfred explained, for what seemed like the millionth time, as he scuffed the heels of his sneakers against the pavement. “And we’re both going.”

              It was a few decades later, and the nations of the world were dealing with the realization that a meteor was headed straight for the earth. Through collective cooperation, the world had created the technology to divert the meteor’s course, but there were only two men alive with enough experience to attach the device to the space station in time; Alfred F. Jones and Ivan Braginsky. And launch day, the day they had been counting down to for what seemed like weeks but was really a year, was today.

              “Isn’t it dangerous?” Arthur asked as he tugged at the sleeve of his black leather jacket, a remnant of his punk days he still sometimes wore if he needed to feel tough. “What if something happens?”

              Alfred looked down at Arthur and smiled weakly, rubbing his bare arms as a cool breeze ruffled his black muscle shirt.

              “We’ve done this before,” Alfred explained. “Been up a couple times. Technology’s gotten better. And besides, they have a secondary shuttle on deck if there’s an emergency, and that’s more than what they had when we went to the moon.”

              “I just… I couldn’t lose you,” Arthur said, his voice cracking as he turned his back on Alfred and crossed his arms, watching the sun rise above the ocean horizon. “Not like that.”

              Alfred sighed and wrapped his arms around Arthur’s chest from behind, his head resting on top of Arthur’s, and his nose burrowing into sandy hair.

              “I promise Ivan and I have triple checked everything,” Alfred whispered into Arthur’s head, kissing his hair. “It should be simple. A few weeks tops.”

              Alfred reached behind into his back pocket and pulled out a thin smart screen device, slipping it into Arthur’s hand.

              “What’s this?” Arthur asked, confused.

              “I wasn’t supposed to give you this,” Alfred explained, holding Arthur tight as he fiddled with the thin rectangle of plexiglass. “NASA said you’d just disrupt them, but hey, when do I do what I’m told? I built it out of my own stuff in the garage, anyways.”

              “Yes, but what is it?” Arthur asked, still confused.

              “It’s like a pager, but it’s also kind of like a two way radio,” Alfred said. “It’s tuned to the frequency of the emergency signal, so if we pull it, it will start to vibrate and let you know something’s gone wrong. It will also display the follow up instructions in case you forget, but I’ll tell you them anyways.”

              Alfred plucked the device from Arthur’s hand, and swung it around so Arthur could see where there was a tiny slot for some kind of thin 10 pin wire jack.

              “If, and only if, this goes off, which it won’t, you can take it with you to NASA mission control and get the guys to jack it into the comm mainframe. From there, you’ll be able to talk to me through this.”

              Alfred tapped a blue crystal device hooked into his ear with his finger.

              “Easy peasy lemon squeezy,” Alfred quipped and let go of Arthur to fish around in a compartment attached to the motorcycle. He found what he was looking for and tossed them at Arthur, who fumbled to catch them. “You’ll also need these. Keys to my Florida place. It’ll keep you close. Matthew will come crash with you too while I’m gone. And due to the… extreme nature of the situation, I managed to get your boss to give you the whole month off to stay there. That should give us a whole week of ‘Alfred adjusts to gravity’ hilarity when I get back.”

              Arthur looked up at Alfred with desperate eyes.

              “I have the most uneasy feeling,” Arthur said. “It’s terrible.”

              Alfred stepped forward and scooped Arthur’s face into his hand, bringing their lips together and kissing Arthur as though he would never kiss him again. When they broke apart, Alfred actually had to hold Arthur up to keep him from collapsing.

              “Easy there, tiger,” Alfred said, laughing lightly. “Love yah, babe.”

He winked and walked inside to get ready for the launch. Arthur stood pensively next to the motorcycle for a moment, and whispered, “Be safe, my love.”

“Oh and I almost forgot!” Alfred cried, turning around and walking backwards as Arthur looked up at him. “Don’t let me forget! I have something to ask you when I get back.”

And with that Alfred was lost into the shadow of the building. Arthur straddled the motorcycle and kicked the ignition, riding off towards the ocean where the others would be preparing for the launch.


	8. Sacrifice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry. I’m sorry in advance. I’m so so sorry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soundtrack: Space Oddity (Ground Control to Major Tom) by David Bowie  
> History Point: Future

              Arthur was curled up on the couch with a copy of Huxley’s _Brave New World_ about a week later, attempting to unknot his stomach of worry. Matthew was stretched out on the floor, reading the news on his tablet.

              “Sounds like they got the device installed okay,” Matthew said. “Scientists are predicting the trajectory to just bend around the farthest reaches of the atmosphere. But then again, when can you believe the news these days.”

              Arthur just nodded silently, trying desperately to quell his anxiety. _Everything will be fine, he’ll be back within the week,_ Arthur thought.

              They shared the space silently for a while until Arthur nodded off. He hadn’t been sleeping well the past few days.

              “What’s that buzzing noise?” Matthew asked, waking Arthur from his slumber.  It took a minute for it to register in Arthur’s sleep woozy brain, but when it clicked, he bolted for the kitchen where he had left the slim plexiglass device.

              There he found it rattling urgently against the counter, red lights flashing across the screen.

              “Oh my God,” Matthew gasped. “I can’t believe…”

              But before he could even finish, Arthur was out the door and on Alfred’s motorcycle, Matthew tripping his way behind as he tugged on his sneakers.

              Mission control was a flurry of action as Arthur shoved his way in, red lights glowing around the perimeter of the ceiling. People were running and shouting, lights were flickering, pencils were scribbling.

              Arthur walked straight in and sat down at the comm station he had been assigned. Just after launch, a couple of comm specialists had walked Arthur through the control room and shown him the desk they had put aside for Alfred’s device. Matthew stood behind him now as Arthur threw on the headset, but paused in confusion at the array of switches, buttons and wires.

              Matthew sprang into action, jacking the device into the correct cable and flipping switches on the dashboard until the headphones crackled with static.

              “Alfred!” Arthur cried as soon as the static cleared.

              “Arthur!” Alfred shouted back excitedly, and Arthur tried to hold back tears as he heard his voice. “Hey, I told you, Ivan, he would pull through. The comms went down about twenty minutes ago, but I knew this bad boy would come in.”

              “What’s wrong,” Arthur said urgently. “Alfred, tell me.”

              “In due course, my man,” Alfred replied nonchalantly, but Arthur could hear the anxiety in his voice. “Is my bro with you?”

              “Yes,” Arthur affirmed.

              “I’d walk you through it, but I think it will save us a ton of time if you just pass the comm to Matty,” Alfred said.

              Reluctantly, Arthur pulled off the headset and passed it to Matthew, who urgently slipped it over his ears.

              “Alpha online,” Matthew said, almost robotically. It was quiet for a moment as Matthew listened. “Yes, got it. Passing back to Excalibur. Alpha out.”

              Matthew dropped the headphones onto dashboard, and started busying himself behind the comm station, ripping off panels and rewiring everything.

              “What the hell are you doing!” screamed one of the control men when they finally noticed.

              “And… DONE!” Matthew shouted.

              The room filled with static and then the sound of Alfred’s voice.

              “Ground control, this is Eagle One, do you copy,” Alfred said. With the increased volume, you could hear Ivan muttering in Russian on the other comm set in the background.

              “Yes,” Arthur said as the room erupted into cheers around him.

              “I’m going to take that as a yes, we’re back in the mainframe,” Alfred replied quickly. “I’d say I told you so, NASA, but we ain’t got the time. Suit up boys, we got ourselves a doozy. You’ve probably noticed from the trajectory display that the planet’s all fine and dandy, but it ain’t the same for us.”

              “What do you mean, Captain?” the Major called out.

              “Well our math was a bit off,” Alfred said, and Arthur was keenly aware of the slight shudder in Alfred’s speech that cued he was extremely nervous. “And if mine’s right, and it usually is, then the path into which the meteor is now heading will coincide with the orbit pattern of the space station and we’ll fly too close.”

              Arthur’s face collapsed into his hands. He was speechless, his mind reeling and scarcely believing this was happening and wasn’t just some twisted nightmare. Matthew gasped and began muttering prayers quietly to himself in French as he skimmed the screens in front of him.

              “There’s a solid chance though that if we bunk down in the quadrant seven airlock we’ll survive the impact with the other side of the station, as long as the shuttle gets to us before the air runs out. And judging by the countdown to docking, we should make it. We’ve already suited up in preparation. Except for one thing,” Alfred said.

              He paused for a moment and took a shaky breath.

              “Matty, cover Art’s ears please,” Alfred said, his voice cracking with tears.

              “NO!” Arthur protested. “What is it, Alfred? What is going to happen?”

              “Matty?” Alfred begged.

              Matthew’s eyes were frantically scanning the screens before him as his face fell and he shook his head.

              “Alfred, just tell him,” Matthew sobbed out. “I know. I know it’s going to break him, but you have to do it. We have to be heroes. You have to be the hero.”

              “WHAT!?” Arthur shouted angrily. “Matthew, Alfred, just bloody tell me what’s going on.”

              Alfred took a shaky breath.

              “Because… Because of the device’s close proximity to the meteor, and the impact with the station, it will warp the trajectory of the meteor ever so slightly,” Alfred said, his voice breaking. “The planet will survive, but the heat… the heat where the meteor will cut into the atmosphere… I… I can’t tell him… Matt, I can’t do it.”

              Matthew swallowed loudly, and with closed eyes said quickly, “The heat will fry the entire Western seaboard of the United States and parts of British Columbia.”

              “My people,” Alfred managed to choke out. “The people… they should be… there shouldn’t be a lot of casualties. We’re prepared. It’ll be mostly wildfires, earthquakes, maybe some tsunami repercussions…”

              Arthur just stared blankly at the plexiglass device in front of him, his face vacant and empty. Tears slid down his cheeks without stopping and dripped down onto the dashboard. Around him, people rushed frantically to activate the proper safety protocols and minimize the casualties. Inside, Arthur was raging, screaming uncontrollably and desperate to reach out and hold Alfred in a way he knew he’d never be able to.

              What ground control didn’t realize was that it was not battle wounds, or widespread casualties, nor dissolution that was the most painful for a country embodiment to experience, but a natural disaster. A national collapse would put them under, but a natural disaster ripped their bodies apart slowly and excruciatingly painfully as their land tore itself apart and their people suffered.

              And with Alfred coming up against the major three with limited assistance in space, there wasn’t a lot of hope Alfred would walk away from this.


	9. Hero Complex

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is it. The big finish. I’m sorry I’ve dragged you to this. Please forgive me. I hope you’ve liked the story anyways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soundtrack: Everybody Has a Dream by Billy Joel  
> History Point: Future

              “That was the President, Captain,” the Major relayed to Alfred. “National Security protocols are in place. We’re doing everything we can to speed the shuttle to the intersection point.”

              “Thank you, Major,” Alfred sobbed, and Arthur could hear him crying as he took in gasping breaths.

              “You still there, Art?” Alfred asked desperately, and the entire control room came to a standstill. Arthur broke out of his reverie at the sound of Alfred’s voice.

              “Yes, yes, Alfred I’m still here,” Arthur sobbed.

              “Not you too,” Alfred replied, his voice cracking. “With the crying.”

              “We’re both such bloody sobs,” Arthur admitted.

              “Ten minutes,” Ivan muttered in the background. “We should get to the airlock, Alfred.”

              “After you,” Alfred muttered, and presumably, was following Ivan. “Art… Arthur… I’m so scared. Can… Do you think you can stay with me… through this?”

              Matthew came around behind Arthur and held his hand tightly. Arthur squeezed back desperately.

              “Of course,” Arthur breathed out. “Of course. I’m always here, Alfred.”

              “There’s… there are some things I have to tell you,” Alfred said.

              “No, please, Alfred,” Arthur cried. “Please don’t. It’s all going to be fine.”

              “No, I need to tell you,” Alfred said firmly. “Please Arthur. I need you to know.”

              “What is it?” Arthur asked.

              “Every hero needs their own hero,” Alfred began. “And ever since I was a small child right up until this very second, I’ve wanted to be like you. I wake up every morning and ask myself, what would Arthur do? Because you are my hero, Arthur Kirkland. And there’s not a second I ever believed otherwise. And even if I wished on every star out here in the vastness of space I could only hope… only dream that I ever measured up in comparison. The world doesn’t need me. The world needs more heroes like you.”

              “No Alfred,” Arthur said, his voice shaky but with conviction. “You are utterly, and completely, and undoubtedly the hero. And fuck the world. You are _my_ hero. I… I need you, Alfred Fucking Jones. Because every minute since I first laid my eyes on you I knew you were destined for greatness. And as the decades have passed you never cease to amaze me of the incredible and unwavering goodness of your heart. And every night, when I look up at the sky and see all of creation sparkling across the heavens, I cannot help but believe that there is not a star in the sky that shines brighter than you, Alfred. Not the sun or the moon or some cold burning star a trillion light years away. Every night, a star was born but they stopped the minute they made you. You are the light of my life, Alfred. You are my hero. And nothing you say can convince me otherwise.”

              “I cannot tell you how happy it makes me to hear that,” Alfred breathed happily. “Because as I realized that I might… I might die up here and dissolve away into stardust, it dawned on me that I had spent so long trying to be a hero for the world. But all I really needed was to be a hero for you.”

              “You are Alfred. You are,” Arthur said.

              “Two minutes,” Ivan read out.

              “I… I can see the Earth from here, Arthur,” Alfred said, his voice shaking with fear.

              “Yes?” Arthur asked. “Tell me what it looks like.”

              “It’s so blue and… and round… and so incredibly tiny,” Alfred said. “And to think of us all fighting over something so impossibly insignificant in the vastness of space… it seems too petty now.”

              “You… you were going to ask me something,” Arthur tried. “Before you left… you said to remind you to ask me something.”

              Alfred actually chuckled.

              “Well it seems rather pointless now,” Alfred sighed. “Seeing as I might die. But I guess I would still like to know your answer.”

              “What was the question,” Arthur said patiently.

              “I was going to ask...” Alfred began. “Arthur Kirkland, the embodiment of the incredible and powerful nation of Great Britain and Northern Ireland. Would you do me the honour… Would you marry me?”

              Arthur was speechless for a second and Matthew smiled knowingly.

              “Of course,” Arthur breathed. “Yes. Yes of course.”

              “Thirty seconds,” Ivan said.

              “Arthur, I’m scared,” Alfred shouted out.

              “Alfred I love you so impossibly and deeply and unconditionally and completely, and there are not words to describe the level at which I love you,” Arthur replied. “Be strong, my love and I’ll see you soon.”

              “Arthur I-” Alfred started. “Whoa.”

              The sound of crashing and grating steel made its way through the headset.

              “Merde,” Matthew swore, ripping his hand out of Arthur’s grasp and pulling up his sleeve to reveal where his skin was visibly burning as the meteor cut into the atmosphere.

              “Arthur I love you. I love you!” Alfred called out desperately between clenched teeth, before the comm filled entirely with Alfred’s screams.

              Everything was still for a moment but for the sound of Alfred’s agony. Arthur sat there uselessly as he forced himself to listen to his love suffer.

              “Shuttle intercepting in T-minus five,” one of the comms called out.

              Muffled behind Alfred’s cries was Ivan shouting out instructions to the incoming shuttle about the changes in their orbit. Arthur looked over to Matthew, where he had crumpled to the floor, holding his arm and scrunching his face in pain.

              “Arthur,” Matthew managed to grimace out. “I’m… I’m so sorry Arthur.”

              “We have you,” the Major said. “Shuttle interception with quadrant seven a success.”

              Arthur only had time to hear Ivan mutter, “Arthur, I’m sorry, there’s nothing I can do,” before he bolted from his seat and out the door.

              He ran and didn’t stop until he hit the ocean, running out into the water and screaming. He collapsed into the water and dug his fingers into the wet sand. His body went numb as his heart broke and his tears mixed with the ocean crashing around him. He could no longer feel. His hero was dead.


	10. Heart Of Gold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> OF COURSE THAT WASN’T THE END. WHAT KIND OF CRUEL PERSON DO YOU THINK I AM??!! That and I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t leave it there. So have this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soundtrack: Just the Way You Are by Billy Joel and Sky Full of Stars by Coldplay  
> History Point: Future

              It was almost two weeks before they let Arthur sit at his bedside. Had it not been for Matthew and Francis, Arthur might have done some terrible things. But here he was, sitting next to the bed, surrounded by beeping machines.

              Alfred lied on the bed, tubes winding into his throat and IVs lacing his exposed arm. The other, and most of his body, was tightly bandaged against the burns and casted for the broken bones. Arthur sighed and rested his elbows on the bed, his head in his hands.

              “I always thought I should have told you to slow down,” Arthur whispered. “I knew if you went too fast you’d be a shooting star and crash and burn. And yet here you are, looking like a sky full of stars, Spaceman.”

              Fourth degree burns on the entire right side of his body, thirty broken bones, liquid in his lungs, and oxygen deprivation. The doctors said his hallucinations were probably so strong he wouldn’t have been able to recall the worst of the pain.

              “The last time you were like this, I had to save your sorry ass,” Arthur complained. “Then I walked in to find a complete stranger. Seems like we’ll have to get used to that again.”

              Arthur looked up at the heart monitor next to the bed, beeping away at a steady, if fast, rhythm. By all medical standards, Alfred should be dead.

              “You fucking survived it,” Arthur shook his head and leaned back in the chair, throwing his head back. “But then again, you are the United States of America. The land of miracles, the land of dreams, the land of heroes.”

              Arthur smirked.

              “My hero,” he said as he reached forward and held Alfred’s bare hand, rubbing his thumb along Alfred’s knuckles, being carful around the IVs.

              Alfred’s pulse quickened, and Arthur pulled his hand away, ready to page the nurse. But as he did, Alfred’s pulse slowed again. Arthur raised an eyebrow, wondering if the monitor was also picking up his pulse. He leaned forward and pecked a kiss on the tip of Alfred’s nose, and the heart monitor spiked through the roof, alerting a stream of nurses that came tumbling into the room.

              Arthur fell back into his chair and laughed.

              A year later, the two sat on the beach just outside the Florida space station and leaned against Alfred’s motorcycle. Alfred’s face and body were still a spattering of bandages as skin grafts healed underneath. And despite them and the cool evening breeze, Alfred insisted on dressing in his Florida best; American flag swim trunks and an open, ridiculously bright, floral pattern shirt. His bandaged eye was covered up by his metallic aviator glasses.

              “This is going to get some getting used to, huh?” Alfred said, scratching at a bandage on his chest. “I’m not quite such the looker anymore.”

              “Give it a few decades,” Arthur whispered into Alfred’s ear as he kissed the bandages on his face. “You’d be surprised what time can do. I can barely see my beheading scar anymore.”

              “Can you wait that long?” Alfred asked.

              “What do you mean?” Arthur replied, his brow furrowing in the way that made Alfred’s heart go to pieces.

              “You can’t really love a face like this, can you?” Alfred said, genuinely believing it and hanging his head.

              “Alfred, I never loved you because you were attractive,” Arthur explained. “You know that right?”

              “Really?” Alfred asked.

              “Bloody hell Alfred, you are superficial,” Arthur said, shaking his head. “Decades ago now, I walked in to a room to find a stranger lying on a bed. I was told this was Alfred, the boy I once knew, but I could scarcely believe it. Lying before me was not Alfred, but a very grown up, very sick, very _attractive_ man. But I did not love him. I loved Alfred.”

              “I don’t understand,” Alfred admitted.

              “As time passed and I got to know that stranger better, I came to realize that he was the Alfred I had loved all along,” Arthur explained. “The strength and spirit of the heart I once knew found its way back to me. And it didn’t matter what you looked like. I love you just the way you are because I love your heart. Your giant, all encompassing, love-filled, _heroic_ heart. And I have since the moment I met you. And the minute that heart stops beating I won’t love you anymore.”

              “Well I sort of like you because you smell like musty old books and tea, so you probably shouldn’t stop either of those either,” Alfred teased.

              “I don’t have any plans too,” Arthur smirked, and moved to straddle Alfred’s hips. “Besides, so long as these are still working…”

              Arthur kissed Alfred gently and hesitantly, then pulled away.

              “We should be fine,” he finished.

              “I could get used to fine,” Alfred said, smiling as their heads touched. “You know, when it happened, after a while all I could see were the stars dancing. And all the constellations in the sky burst to life and sang the lullaby you used to sing me when I was little. And somehow I knew it was all going to be okay.”

              “Sounds like you have a guardian angel,” Arthur said.

              “Nah,” Alfred said, shaking his head slightly. “I have you. And it’s all I’ll ever need.”

              As Arthur stared into Alfred’s galaxy filled eyes, his hands slid onto Alfred’s chest to feel his still beating heart, beating to the rhythm of a hundred thousand cities, of people living, breathing, thriving. And he knew that somewhere up in the sky filled with stars that sparkled above them, people would tell legends of the great hero, Alfred Jones, and the day a star was born. And Arthur could not be happier or more thankful to love him and be loved in return.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Someone Waiting](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4182033) by [TheLordOfLaMancha](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLordOfLaMancha/pseuds/TheLordOfLaMancha)




End file.
